Submission
by mimeo
Summary: This was written for the Dreamwidth Hannibal kink meme in 2013. Prompt: "Will's neck is his most sensitive area and when Hannibal finds out he takes full advantage of that. Mostly by pulling his head back and kissing his Adam's apple, loving the way it bobs when he swallows. 100000 if dubcon 1000000000 if Hannibal fantasizes about what it would be like to sink his teeth in"


This was written for the Dreamwidth Hannibal kink meme in 2013.  
Prompt: "Will's neck is his most sensitive area and when Hannibal finds out he takes full advantage of that. Mostly by pulling his head back and kissing his Adam's apple, loving the way it bobs when he swallows. +100000 if dubcon +1000000000 if Hannibal fantasizes about what it would be like to sink his teeth in"

There's a panic attack on the horizon. It wouldn't be the first time he's had one in this office, but avoiding it would be preferable. Will's words are getting jumbled; he has stood up from his seat and is pacing. He's recounting every detail of his latest nightmare and apparently the mere discussion of it is enough to send him rocketing right back to the moment when he woke up from it, eyes wide, fear fresh in his mind, ears ringing, chest heaving, never enough air in his lungs. Never.

"I think you should sit down, Will." Hannibal's voice is level but Will doesn't listen. His back is turned and his hands are running through his hair. In the midst of pacing, he stops at the sliding ladder. He's trying to calm himself down now, falling silent and leaning against it, crossing his ankles and closing his eyes. His head is tilted back, neck exposed like a subconsciously submissive animal. It's no use. The frenzied stream of words comes back.

"You, you don't understand. It's every night now. Every time. Every time it's like... like I'm closer, like it's happening, like it is _evolving_ from a lucid dream to a _reality_ and I-"

Hannibal's risen from his chair and is striding toward him.

"What are you doing?" Will asks.

It would be terribly easy to shut him up with a pair of lips over his own, but that is much too simple. Too basic, base, ignoble. Hannibal's in front of him now, there's a firm hand on Will's shoulder and then it's moving up along the curve of his neck and to his cheek, cupping the side of his face and he's frozen, the furrowing of his brow being his only movement.

"Wha-what are you doing?" he repeats, voice higher.

"Touch can be an anchor for some. A comfort. Your refusal to cooperate or improve with existing methods will naturally lead me to try a different approach." He knows damn well that Will has serious issues with personal space, that touch is more likely to make him flinch and shut down than calm down, but he can toss out overcomplicated sentences until the man's convinced and compliant.

"I don't..." Why is his heart beating faster? Why does it feel like every pore on his body is opening in an all-encompassing shiver, a tremor, a cold sweat?

"You don't feel comforted?"

"No." His gaze is averted as usual, off to the side, and his head is tilting back - likely recoiling from Hannibal, but his neck is put on display again and he gulps audibly. Hannibal runs his thumb along Will's jawline, pressing lightly at the skin underneath, softness disguised by stubble. His other hand rests on Will's hip and he leans in closer, eyes falling shut to better savour the scent - thick, strong, sweeter than wine or blood. Mulch and cheap aftershave and vulnerability positively wafting from him.

It's just too tempting. Hannibal leans closer. First his nose brushes Will's neck, then his lips meet the skin in a soft open-mouthed kiss. Rather than gasp or shove him off, as Hannibal had anticipated, Will inhales slowly and shakily and goes stiff, but not from tension. Another chill is spreading through his body and his eyes fall shut behind his glasses and _oh god that's the spot._

Interesting.

He's still far from resisting as Hannibal plants more - dare he say - _gentle_ kisses along his neck. One more moment and that gentleness is gone, the hand on his cheek having found its way to the back of his head and twisted tight into his curls, jerking his head back with so much force that Will practically yelps. With the sensitive expanse of skin now properly accessible, Hannibal licks a stripe up Will's neck before dragging his teeth back down.

This is wrong, this is wrong in so many ways Will can't even _begin_ to count them, but now there's sucking, sucking hard enough to leave a mark, and this feels _so fucking good._ It's a high, it's a haze, it's like scratching an itch. Pleasurable paralysis. He can't keep his eyelids from fluttering.

Hannibal's nips and kisses are eliciting involuntary moans now, little whines of pleasure from Will's chapped parted lips. There's a tongue sliding over his Adam's apple and he swallows hard. Hannibal pins him against the ladder, chest to chest now, teeth grazing over the small bump and waiting for it to bob again with each subsequent swallow. He's so close he can almost taste his pulse. His mind drifts into to shadows. Hannibal imagines how he would sink his teeth in, bite chunks out of this flesh until the scalene muscles were visible, twitching and tensing under waves of shimmering crimson that would pour out and over Will's grey plaid shirt until the flow was stopped by hungry lips. The rich taste, the warm piquancy of copper, the very vim of life, the way it would coat your throat and collect in the crevice between gum and tooth, flavour lingering in your mouth for hours.

Will's grabbing at Hannibal's sleeves now, pulling for more, more, more closeness, as teeth drag across the approximate site of his jugular vein. This, this trust will be his downfall.

But the time for the jaws of death to clamp down literally and metaphorically is still far, far away. The warmth of breath, the wet slide of a tongue, the kisses above his clavicle, this is how to still him. How to lull him into a false sense of security. Good to know.

Will is putty in his hands now - finally physically as well as mentally. He's babbling a breathy, desperate stream of incoherent syllables now, growing louder when Hannibal kisses the bit of skin just below his ear. New doors have been opened today, but Hannibal will leave them be for now. This is a waiting game; what fun would there be in unwrapping all his gifts at once? He backs away abruptly, nonchalantly adjusting his jacket, smoothing a hand over the lapels.

Will's knees give out and he sinks to the floor, head swimming, but not with any of the thoughts he walked in with.


End file.
